


Take Flight

by Falln_Grce



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Orphans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falln_Grce/pseuds/Falln_Grce
Summary: Set during the occupation of Gotham, John is captured by Bane's men. Instead of taking him to the courts for trial, he is taken underground where he captures the attention of both Bane and his Second-in-Command.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little exploration of what might have happened if John was abandoned by GPD and brought into the fold of The League of Shadows.

The swimming pool at the community center.

 

John hadn’t been there in years, but right before he blacked out, he could swear he was tasting the over-chlorinated swimming pool that the St. Swithins boys used to go to during the hot summers in Gotham. He’d been a beat cop for a few years now though, and had taken a few hits to the head, so John had a half of a second to grasp with complete certainty the knowledge that the taste was actually the body’s defensive strategy of flooding his system with adrenaline.

 

It wasn’t enough, and he knew in that same half of a second that it wasn’t even remotely going to be enough as he felt his knees buckling underneath him.

 

At least he’d be out before his face hit the pavement.

 

Today was supposed to be a pretty easy day, all things considered. John had been by the orphanage the day before to get a list of ‘must-haves’ from Father Riley. Everyone had learned over the last month that there were a lot of things they didn’t need to survive. John hated that the boys had to learn that survival often meant deprivation, and especially at such a young age. Some of the boys weren’t even 10 years old. But John also knew that there were boys in the home who had, like John, already learned this truth the hard way.

 

His understanding of these unwanted boys was something that always kept John coming back. With his schedule in a constant state of fluctuation over the last few years, he hadn’t been able to be there every day. But at least once a week he’d drop by and take over the dinner prep in the kitchens. Father Riley seemed grateful for the help, and the extra groceries John would bring by when he could. Dinners were always an event. It wasn’t until later that John learned the older boys were only there for a meal, that they didn’t sleep there.

 

Had he known, John would have offered his one bedroom apartment in a heartbeat. Sure, the place was no palace, but he had a pull-out couch that he’d picked up on craigslist and a ton of extra blankets. The blankets were hoarded partially because Gotham had wicked cold winters and the heating in the building liked to go on strike, and partially because John remembered living on the streets when he was twelve.

 

That’s one of the things he doesn’t tell people about. Not that he’s been any good at building close relationships with his peers… but when he tries, there are certain things about himself that he doesn’t share. Hell, someone could write a whole novel filled with things John doesn’t share. One of the biggest being that during his 12th and 14th birthday, John had been homeless. And on the streets, a decent blanket had been worth 100 times its weight in gold.

 

When he woke up John was able to focus around the pain in his head to know two things: One, he was underground somewhere, and two, he’d really like it if he had a fucking blanket. Underground or not, it was fucking cold. The cement floor he was laying on was doing a good job of leaching out the warmth from his body, and he curled into himself to try and preserve what little he had left.

 

While he’d been out, someone had taken his jacket along with his boots and socks. The room he was in, and it definitely was a room, was empty save for its single occupant. There was a rusted, metal door on the far wall that he would bet his last dollar was bolted shut. The vent on the ceiling was at least thirty feet up. He could see the sky even further beyond that. While no sound would likely make it to the top, the cold drafts seemed to have no problem making it down to him.

 

John could have sworn he’d been shivering on the ground for hours, but the light from above had barely changed when he heard the locks on the door being pulled back. The door swung open, and in its place stood a man about John’s size wearing a full tactical vest complete with some kind of large caliber ammunition and a military grade knife, a red scarf, and a few days’ worth of a beard on a bored, but otherwise expressionless face. And a very large rifle in his hands.

 

“Come.” Red Scarf gestured to the unknown area behind him with a tiny sideways nod of his head.

 

John stared at the man for a few moments. If they were going to kill him then he’d rather not give them a reason to get handsy first. The smart move would be to obey. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas. John tried to stand, he really did. But after three attempts to rise, with each of them ending in collapse, Red Scarf slung his rifle on his back and came over to haul him up.

 

It’s not that John meant to, but as Red Scarf squatted down beside him and reached under his arms, John flinched so hard he landed on his back with his hands up to ward off an attacker.

 

The startled expression on his captor’s face confused him, but the hands the man held in front of him like John was a hurt child he didn’t want to scare, had him feeling the slightest flicker of ease. This was not the action of a man who had violence on his mind.

 

“S-s-sorry,” John stuttered out, teeth still chattering from the cold.

 

Red Scarf’s body hadn’t moved an inch, but his eyes took on a somehow soft tone. “I meant only to assist you, little bird.”

 

John nodded and reached his hand out to grasp one of the man’s as they pulled him upright together. Logically, John knew who this was. He knew that Bane’s men were underground, literally, and that this man was one of them. He also knew they brought prisoners to Crane’s courts for trial, not to their sewer hideout.

 

As the man helped him shuffle out of the room, John tried to take in his surroundings as much as he could without being obvious. There were several men around, all with guns. Some of them paid attention to John, but most ignored them. If they weren’t interested in him, they either didn’t know he was a cop, or whatever was coming wasn’t going to be a public execution. While doing nothing for the confusion, this was at least a little comforting to him as the man led him up a flight of metal stairs onto a more secluded platform.

 

John would call it living quarters for lack of a better word. There was a plastic tarp sectioning off a small area where he could see maps on the wall, lanterns for light on top of overturned crates, and two cots. A few more crates were littered around the rest of platform, some looking to be tables, others maybe being used as chairs.

 

His suspicions were confirmed when Red Scarf led him to one of the crates, “Sit. You will wait here,” he told him with an air of ambivalence. Any questions John may have had died on his lips as the man turned to one of the tables and started sorting through papers.

 

Footsteps on the stairs had John quickly turning to take in the figure coming up to meet them. As soon as the man’s head rose above the top step, John felt a sudden surge of panic course through his abdomen. Bane. The man coming to meet them was Bane. Without taking his eyes off of the masked man, he felt around him for anything that could be used as a weapon. It was a futile attempt. The room he was in, that John now realized was Bane’s room, was sparsely furnished. Curling his shoulders in, he tried to make himself as small as possible.

 

As tough he weren’t even there, Bane came into the room and took off his heavy, shearling-lined coat first, then the vest underneath. The back brace stayed on as he dropped his clothing on one of the crates.

 

Without looking up from his work, Red Scarf held a scrap of paper up to Bane just as he was walking over. Taking it on his way by, the mountain of a man came to stand in front of John. So much for being small and invisible.

 

“Iodine, bandages, rice, flour, size ten jeans, Flintstone gummies.” Bane was reading the list John had gotten from Father Riley that morning. They must have taken it from his pocket when he was knocked out. “Tell me, Robin John Blake: How many children do you have?”

 

John swallowed past a lump in his throat as he took in the man before him. Bane had pulled up a crate and was sitting directly in front of John’s own. The amount of muscles in the shoulders and arms of the man was intimidating, but so far he hadn’t been threatening. Even his question seemed more curious than taunting.

 

“Seventeen,” John replied, figuring he’d try a little honesty and see how it went. Peripherally, he noticed Red Scarf drop what he was holding and look over at them, now interested in the proceedings. Even Bane had a look of mild surprise at his answer.

 

“These are siblings? Cousins?” Bane asked with a small tilt of his head.

 

Keeping his eyes on the man in front of him, he shook his head and tried to rub some warmth back into his arms. “No, just kids. The ones that no one else wanted. They’re from my Boy’s Home and they don’t have much. That’s why I was out.” Finally breaking Bane’s intense gaze, John looked down at his bare feet. It’s not like the boys would die tomorrow if they didn’t get those supplies, but he hated to think about how it would be harder for them just the same.

 

Bane nodded and without looking away from John, held his arm out to the side and called out “Barsad.”

 

Red Scarf, or Barsad he figured, ducked into the tarp and returned with a heavy looking blanket. He knew these were terrorists, they were not good guys, but John felt incredibly grateful as Bane took the blanket from his lieutenant and draped it over his shoulders. His hands were rough as he rubbed up and down John’s now covered arms and back.

 

“The warmth will return to your body soon. Barsad will bring you food, and I will see that the supplies for your children are gathered.” Bane’s voice was soothing, he could hear an accent even through the distortion from the mask. “But you will remain here, Robin. Do you understand?”

 

Startled, John looked up at Bane. “How… How long?” He couldn’t be trapped down here. He had to take care of the boys. There was no one else to do it. He’d tried to get Gordon to understand this before too. But the commissioner had told John that he could be a cop and fight against Bane’s men, or he could be a civilian and fight for himself. It hadn’t mattered how many times John had tried to tell the man that he wasn’t fighting for himself, it was for the kids.

 

It hadn’t mattered, and he’d been summarily dismissed. Cut out of any planning and cut off from any of their resources. John had been a civilian for just under two weeks. With the city under occupation, there was no way to make it official, but there weren’t a lot of cops above ground at the moment. And the ones who were all knew of him and his exile. Some of them even seemed smugly satisfied by it.

 

So he wasn’t a cop anymore. It was fine by him, not the first time he’d been turned away. At least this way, he’d be able to take better care of the boys while the city was shut down.

 

Oblivious to his musings or ignoring him outright, Bane turned away and headed into the tarp. John watched as he pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and walked back down the stairs.

 

Barsad collected John from the crate and led him into the tarp to rest on one of the beds. “I can’t stay here,” he tried to explain. But the mercenary guided him into a resting position against the pillow and resettled his blanket over him. It might have been the warm air in the makeshift room, or the gentle soothing from Barsad. Or it could have been the head injury that he still had. Whatever the cause, John could feel his eyes getting heavier, beyond his ability to keep them open.

 

“Sleep,” Barsad murmured. “When you wake I’ll make us some food, Robin.”

 

There was no taste this time. The only thing John noted before the darkness took over was the gentle hand rubbing comforting circles across his back and that both of these men had called him Robin. He hadn’t been Robin in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking underground a second time was a little better than the first. This time there was a mattress he was curled up on, a pillow under his head, and a blanket over him keeping him warm. The quiet sound of fabric over metal had John looking up from his bed to see Barsad sitting on the cot across from him.

 

The man had his rifle draped over his legs with a rag in one hand. John silently watched, unmoving, for a few minutes before Barsad glanced over and noticed his eyes were open. Immediately, but with slow, efficient moves, the quiet mercenary set the rifle down on the cot beside him, then reached over to the crate between the cots to pick up a water bottle.

 

“Come,” he said. “Sit and have food.” He handed John the water bottle, then stood over the cot while John pushed himself into a sitting position. He made sure to keep the blanket over as much of his body as he could. It may be warmer inside the tarp, but he still had no shoes and he flinched a little as his feet hit the cold cement below.

 

Barsad squatted in front of the cot and lifted a hand up to John’s face. He hesitated before he made contact though. “I need to check for dilation in your eyes. This is okay?”

 

He squeezed the water bottle a little at the unexpected sight in front of him. These men were terrorists, they shouldn’t care if he was _comfortable_. Why was this man asking if it was okay that he touch John? And why check for injuries? And the water, the bed, the blanket… None of this made sense.

 

“Robin?” his confusion got worse as the man made no move to get closer, and now had a furrowed brow as he tried to make eye contact.

 

He ducked his head, looking down to the water. He was thirsty, but his muscles still felt a little tired from pushing his body into a sitting position. Barsad must have noticed, because he gently took the bottle, uncapped it, and handed it back.

 

“It’s uh… it’s John.” He whispered to the mercenary. “My name is John.”

 

There was a fraction on a smile before the matter-of-fact voice returned. “Your name is Robin. It says so on your id card.”

 

He watched as Barsad shifted slightly to take a bowl from the same crate between the two cots. He waited for John to take a few sips of water before replacing the bottle with the bowl. It was some kind of stew with meat and vegetables, and it was warm.

 

He felt enough energy return to start shoveling the food into his mouth, happy to have something cooked instead of the protein bars he’d been living off of for the last few days. He slowed down though, at Barsad’s quiet insistence, but within two minutes the food was gone.

 

“May I check for injuries now?” He was being so nice, even as he carefully lifted the bowl from John’s hands. It still made no sense. John nodded and was surprised that he didn’t feel the need to shift away as Barsad moved his hands into John’s hair, tilting his head down to get a look at the back of his head. Then tilting his face up to look at his eyes. “You will be fine. In some pain maybe, but you will recover.”

 

He was left alone abruptly as his companion left the tarp, only to return with a file in his hands. The documents inside were secured with clips, and John watched as Barsad began folding pages over the top, seating himself on the cot in front of him.

 

“You are an officer with the Gotham police,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.

 

“No.” John replied. He wasn’t going to ask how they came by their information, but he no longer wanted any official record to list him alongside those jackals. Sure, some of them could be good men, his partner was a decent person at least. But his partner was trapped underground. The ones who had survived seemed to be some of the worst of the bunch.

 

“Robin,” Barsad started with a hint of admonishment in his tone. “I have your file in my hands. I am not looking for something to exploit, but I expect honesty from you. Your name is Robin and you are an officer with the Gotham police.” He looked up from the file for the first time since he sat down. “That is twice you have lied to me. It will be better for you if you don’t do it a third time.”

 

“I’m not… I’m…” John shook his head to deny the accusations and tried to voice them, but his throat was dry and a coughing fit got in the way. Barsad calmly handed him the water, softly chiding him to take small sips when he tried to gulp the whole thing down.

 

Once he could talk again, he looked up at Barsad and noticed the man was patiently waiting for him to continue.

 

“I’m not lying. I haven’t used the name Robin since I was fourteen, and I was fired from GPD last week.” He couldn’t really help the bitter tone. These men didn’t know what that name meant to him, didn’t know that he hated to be reminded of that time in his life. And they didn’t know that he had just suffered yet another rejection by the GPD. Still, he couldn’t help directing some of his anger at the man forcing him to pay attention to his failures.

 

“Why did you change your name?” Barsad asked politely, face impassive.

 

John huffed and looked around the small room for a distraction. “I didn’t. Johns my middle name.”

 

Another smile came out, albeit a small one. “Yes, but you answered to Robin before, and now you do not. Why did you change your name?”

 

Throwing his arms out to his sides, then dropping them back to the bed, John shook his head. “Because I… because I couldn’t be Robin anymore.” He wasn’t raising his voice too much, he was careful of that, but he didn’t want to feel like he was sitting in front of a shrink anymore. _And tell me Robin, what did the bad people do to you?_ It didn’t help him then, and he wasn’t going to sit here and talk about it now.

 

“What does it matter?” He shot back at the calm man. “What does my name have anything to do with being here right now? What do you want from me? I don’t have any money. I don’t have any connections to the police. What could you possibly want from me?”

 

He didn’t get an answer, but Barsad went back to his file. “Mother dead at five. Father murdered at seven. You were in four different foster homes between seven and twelve, at which time you disappear for two years, then resurface at the Catholic Boy’s Home known as St. Swithins.”

 

Barsad still hadn’t looked back up at him. He just kept reading. “You stayed there for almost four years, got a GED instead of going to public school. Based on your test scores, you were a very bright young man. But instead of college, you applied to the Police Academy. Where, once again, you excelled. After thirteen months, you graduated second in your class, and have been on patrol ever since.”

 

John hadn’t taken his eyes off of the man’s face, and held his blank stare as Barsad finally looked at him again. “Tell me, Robin, do you feel it was a worthwhile pursuit? Being a cop?”

 

What does he say? No, they fired me anyway. No, I should’ve been a social worker but I was too angry. No, because this city’s too corrupt for one cop to matter. Yes, because at least I was trying to make a difference.

 

“I don’t know,” he sighed. Not like it mattered much now. Gotham was a fallen city. Batman was gone, the police were all trapped underground. Gordon and his men just hadn’t realized it yet.

 

Before he could say any more, a sound from the main area of the platform caught his attention. Looking over beyond the tarp, a young boy was walking to one of the empty crates. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but he was carrying Bane’s heavy coat and vest from before.

 

“Farouk,” Barsad called out, catching the boy’s attention and giving him an indulgent smile as the boy came closer. John listened as Barsad spoke to the boy in another language. Arabic perhaps, maybe not, but John didn’t know what it was regardless.

 

The boy shuffled his feet and looked up at John, as Barsad gestured in his direction. “Nomet John ast,” he told the boy.

 

Nodding slowly, the boy addressed John with a heavy accent, “Hello John. My name is Farouk.” The boy looked very pleased with himself, and John was immediately aware that he was not fluent in English. Likely, he was just now learning and Barsad was helping him. Smiling warmly to the boy, John went through some basic greeting phrases, pausing as Barsad helped him find the right words.

 

Eventually Barsad gave a quiet direction to the boy, handed him the empty bowl from earlier, and went through a few farewell phrases before sending him on his way.

 

“Is he yours?” John asked.

 

Barsad had collected his rifle from the bed and was once again wiping it down with the rag. “No,” he all but murmured, “We found him near the border of Afghanistan. He was tied to a pole and being whipped for his heritage. He had the misfortune to be born into a tribe the rest of the people considered inferior.” He looked up from his rifle, eyes sparkling with mirth for the first time that John had seen. “Bane has a soft spot for society’s unwanted children.”

 

He nodded at this new information, thoughts swirling as he tried to fit his new knowledge into the terrorist persona he had known them as. His companion left him to his thoughts, tossing a well-worn paperback onto the cot beside him when John looked to be getting restless.

 

The rest of the day was spent sitting in the tarp, John reading and Barsad cleaning his _endless_ cache of weapons. Farouk returned in the evening, bringing with him more stew and clean bowls.

 

It wasn’t until they were nearly finished eating that Bane returned. John watched him stride across the platform with an air of confidence that he guessed could terrify or comfort the observer depending on their reason for being in the man’s presence.

 

Farouk and Barsad seemed completely at ease, so John tried to adopt their nonchalance. He froze mid-bite though when he noticed the large man unbuckling his mask.

 

No one knew why he wore the mask. Some thought it was to conceal his identity, others claimed he was horribly disfigured and needed it to function. Either way, this was not an opportunity he wanted to miss. As though he were making it easier for John to satiate his curiosity, Bane walked into the tarp and took a seat on the cot with Barsad, directly across from John.

 

There were scars, definitely. Scars that were likely very painful when they were inflicted. The darkest one nearly ran the length of the face, forming a ‘c’ shape from one corner of the mouth and over the bridge of the nose, up through an eyebrow. How it hadn’t damaged the eye, John didn’t know. But it hadn’t, and if he were being honest, John would call the man beautiful.

 

Farouk had jumped up from his place next to John and prepared him a bowl of the stew while Bane handed his mask off to Barsad.

 

“Tashakur, Farouk,” Bane rumbled out to the boy, smiling as the boy began to speak in his language once again. He seemed to be excited to share the day’s events with Bane, who would ask an occasional question or make a remark to something the boy had said.

 

John was quiet as he watched the downright domestic behavior coming from the two men in front of him. There was no denying they had taken over his city through violence, forced an occupation, and threatened millions with a bomb… But it seemed there was more to them as well. They were welcoming him into a family scene, even encouraging him to interact with a child they both seemed to care a great deal for.

 

Which was when John was reminded of his own children. He couldn’t stay here.

 

“Barsad tells me you are no longer an officer Robin.” He looked up to see Bane watching him closely. For all the man appeared to be relaxed here with his bowl of stew, John could see a piercing intelligence in his stare.

 

“That’s right,” He said after swallowing his last bite from the bowl. “They fired me a week ago.”

 

Bane hummed his acknowledgment and continued eating

 

“Look, um…” John started, looking anywhere but the two men in front of him. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate all this… and maybe now isn’t the best time, but I need to get back to my boys. I’ve been gone for a while now, and they’re counting on me.”

 

Bane nodded and said something to Barsad in a different language, it didn’t sound like the one they used with Farouk, but it had the younger man standing and walking out of the tarp and down from the platform.

 

Setting his empty bowl down, Bane reached into a pocket for a jar of cream and gestured to Farouk to come closer. The boy removed his shirt as he stood from the cot and John caught a glimpse of his back before he turned to face away from the large man behind him. The scars looked fresh and pink, and they were everywhere. This boy had been tortured. John quickly schooled his expression before the boy looked up to him, saying something John couldn’t understand.

 

Bane opened the jar and began gently applying the cream to the boy’s back, helping him select the right words in English so he could tell John the story of his rescue and how his scars were a mark of victory he had received from battle.

 

He knew the boy hadn’t been in a battle, he’d been beaten by some psychos somewhere. But he also knew that children needed stories like this to move past the trauma, so he played into the fantasy world the boy was spinning, and told Farouk he must be a very fearsome warrior indeed.

 

Bane offered nothing to the story himself, save for his assistance translating, and John gave up talking about his departure for the time being.

 

He acknowledged it only once Farouk was sleeping on the extra cot they had dragged in, right before he encouraged John to get some sleep as well. “In the morning we will move from here to our new home. You will see your children then.”

 

Whether that meant they were letting John go or not, he couldn’t tell. Either way, Bane was turning out the light in the room and he had no choice but to try and get some rest. As he lay in the dark, listening to Farouk and Bane breathing softly, he couldn’t help but wonder where Barsad had disappeared to, and why he was still missing.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning had come and gone with a flurry of activity in the lower levels of the sewer hideout. John knew Bane had a lot of men, but it was starting to get ridiculous with the sheer size of the army. The operation was definitely mobile, but the men were clearing out with the understanding they were to leave no trace behind. It was like structured chaos.

 

Bane had left John and Farouk with a stern warning that John was not to leave the platform until Bane himself gave the instruction. His mask and vest had been back in place when he’d woken up the former officer, and there was a weird energy in his movements.

 

Farouk had come running up with bread and cheese within minutes of John sitting up, and Bane stopped the boy with a hand to his head. Farouk didn’t seem to mind, and the hand didn’t appear to be punishing, just holding him in place and tilting the boy’s face up. Another exchange in the strange language passed between them, resulting in Farouk nodding when he was released. He sent a deferential “Ballay saib,” up to Bane and got a ruffle of his hair in response.

 

“Robin,” Bane called down to him. He really needed to get up from the cot. “Farouk will be with you today. Do not let him leave your side.” It almost sounded like there was a bit of worry in the order. “Do not let anyone take him from your side.”

 

John was floored with the amount of trust he was being given with the boy. Bane obviously had a heart if he was this concerned with the child’s safety. But to trust John to safeguard him… he felt a tremendous sense of responsibility all of a sudden. “Yeah, of… of course.” He stood up from the bed, feeling that this kind of promise needed to be given on two feet.

 

Bane looked between Farouk and John for a few more moments, pulled over a crate that, surprise surprise, contained John’s boots and jacket, then strode across the platform and disappeared down the stairs.

 

He didn’t return for another four hours, already well into the afternoon. Immediately, he ushered John and Farouk into the tarp and dropped the flap. John could hear the sounds of several boots walking around the area and crates being moved from one place to the next. When Bane lifted the flap again, the tables that had documents strewn about had been removed. Several empty crates were next to the outside of the tarp, with two new men standing by.

 

“Robin, come here.” Bane called out from the main area. “This is Kojo and Remy,” he introduced by nodding to the two newcomers. John got the feeling these weren’t the shake-your-hand kind of guys so he mimicked Bane and nodded over to them in greeting. “They will help us break down the sleeping quarters and transport you and Farouk to our new building.”

 

All of the gentleness from before seemed to have disappeared with the morning. Bane’s gentle handling with Farouk and polite behavior towards John had been replaced with a calm efficiency. And John remembered again that this man was the leader of a terrorist group who were at this moment holding millions of people hostage in their own city.

 

It was like being doused in ice water on the hottest day of summer.

 

John nodded, which was apparently the only que the men needed to start removing the tarp, then the cots, and any other trace of the platform’s prior occupants.

 

Farouk had come to stand by John, holding onto his waist and barely looking at the three mercenaries as they completed their task with a single-minded purpose. He let out a quiet sound of joy though, when Remy slyly handed a chocolate bar off to him in passing.

 

Bane had noticed. Of course he did, even with his back turned, and made some low remark that John couldn’t distinguish. Remy looked back over his shoulder at his leader, winked at the boy, and proceeded down the stairs with one of the cots under his arms.

 

John nudged the boy closer to one of the far walls as he devoured his prize. The room was nearly empty now, save for a couple crates that Bane was stacking, and the last cot that Kojo was in the middle of moving out. He watched Bane and noticed the man motioning him over just as Kojo was descending the stairs.

 

“Trust no one but those two, Barsad, and myself.” Bane told him in a hushed tone. The warmth was returning to his voice, but barely. “There are many men here, many are good, and some are not. But the loyalty those three men have is to me. The loyalty of the others is to the League, to our cause. Do you understand?”

 

No. No he did not. Was the occupation not Bane’s cause? Was John in danger? Was Farouk? This was making less and less sense the longer John stayed. He needed to get home. “Yeah, I understand.”

 

“Good,” Bane nodded down at him. “Get Farouk and follow me. Do not let go of him.” John called out to Farouk as Bane lifted the full crates and swept past him. Grabbing the boy’s hand, John held him in a tight grip as he followed down the stairs.

 

The trip out of the sewers was hurried, but uneventful. John noticed that the men from before had practically cleared out, very few remained as John and Farouk tried to keep up with the fast pace Bane set for them. Eventually, John had opted to pick the boy up and carry him instead of forcing him to run just to keep up. John had longer legs than the boy, and he weighed practically nothing, certainly not enough for his age.

 

Kojo met them at one of the intersections and took Farouk from John’s arms. He’d started to protest, but Bane called back to let the larger man carry the child.

 

When they hit the open air, Bane ushered John into a waiting van, Remy at the wheel. Kojo handed Farouk off before climbing in the back with them, while Bane took the passenger seat up front.

 

They drove into the nicer, or what used to be considered nicer, part of Gotham and pulled into the alley behind an apartment building that John remembered had advertised for luxury lofts. He felt a smirk cross his face when he thought _of course Bane would choose a place that was made up of concrete floors and exposed ceilings, of course he would._

 

Stopping at the door to the back of the building, Remy perked the van and ran around to open the door for John. It wasn’t that the man was trying to be a gentleman, John quickly realized, when Kojo got out behind John and Farouk and bracketed the two of them in between Remy and himself, guns drawn.

 

Apparently, John had bodyguards now.

 

The loft itself was massive. They had come up in the service elevator, all the way to the top floor. Remy had briefed Bane on the ride up that the other elevator had been taken offline and that the service elevator was able to be allowed or denied access by whoever was in the loft at the time. John was a little shocked to hear a strong southern drawl to the man’s words. Huh. He’d thought they were all from overseas. Come to think of it, Kojo had sounded like he had no accent when he’d taken Farouk from him back in the sewers.

 

As it turned out, Barsad was in the loft. John was a little surprised at his own reaction to seeing the man. It had been two days, but he recognized the relaxing in his shoulders as feeling a relief at seeing him again. Almost enough that he wanted to put Farouk down and give the man a hug.

 

Barsad had smiled when he saw them, and something about the twinkling in his eyes told John that his emotional reaction to seeing the mercenary was not lost on him.

 

Farouk had no such hang ups though, and as soon as John set him down, the boy went running for the bearded man. Remy chuckled at the sight as he and Bane made their way over to their compatriot, or brother, as John had heard Bane say.

 

Kojo motioned for John to follow him and proceeded to give a pretty decent tour of the place. There was a loft inside of the loft, would wonders never cease. It was mostly a sleeping area and John quickly understood he’d be expected to sleep there. The room had two large beds, way bigger than anything he’d had before, and there was a small reading/office section in the center of the room, between the beds with a desk, bookshelf, and reading chair. It almost made it seem like there were two rooms.

 

As Kojo dropped a bag on the bed nearest the stairs, John wondered who he’d be sharing the area with. He was led back down to see the kitchen, seriously swanky bathroom, and living area. There were more rooms down the hall, and he noticed Remy disappearing into one.

 

Kojo left him then to follow his brother, so John returned to the front area where Bane was actively engaged in some kind of English lesson with Farouk at a small table. Seeing his arrival, Barsad rose from his seat and pulled John back towards the living room. His face seemed to have lost his earlier mirth.

 

After sitting him down on the sofa, Barsad took a seat on the coffee table in front of him. “Robin, let me start by saying your boys are all safe and here in the apartment below us.” John’s mouth dropped open in shock. Within seconds he was standing to head over to the door. “Robin, wait.” Barsad implored as he stood to intercept him.

 

“If they’re down there, I need to see them. Father Riley must be freaking out.” He paced a bit, running a hand through his hair. “His heart’s not too good, you know. He needs meds but it’s not like we can get a refill from the corner pharmacy right now, so he has to take it easy. God, he must be so freaked right now.”

 

Barsad led him back to the couch and urged him to sit down again. “I need to tell you some things first, and then I’ll take you to see them.”

 

He squinted his eyes over at the man. Something wasn’t right here. Barsad had told him the boys were safe, but John knew from experience that this was the way you talked to people when you had to break some bad news.

 

And it was bad news. Father Riley and Christopher, one of the older boys, had left the home late yesterday evening to search for John when he hadn’t turned up with the supplies. Had they been stopped by Bane’s patrols, Barsad assured him they would have been questioned and released.

 

But they hadn’t been that lucky. Father Riley had recognized one of the officers John had worked with and had followed the man to the abandoned store the police were holed up in. John hadn’t told them about his earlier dismissal from the force. They hadn’t known to stay away.

 

As it was, the police weren’t happy to have someone who knew them discover their location. Really, it was the cop’s own fault for not realizing he had a tail. They were justifiably paranoid though, because Father Riley and Christopher hadn’t realized they had one of their own.

 

When Bane had sent Barsad off the night before, he had directed him to take Remy and Kojo, go to the orphanage, and bring the occupants to the new building. Remy and Kojo had already been by earlier that day to drop off the supplies on the front porch. They couldn’t have known that the supplies being there plus John’s absence would cause the Father to worry so much.

 

Remy had stayed behind after the drop, in the building across the street. Initially, it was only to ensure the box of needed items wasn’t taken by someone out scavenging. But even after they were taken inside, the man had hunkered down and set up a watch on the place, something had told him he would be needed.

 

Sure enough, when Father Riley and Christopher left the home a few hours later, Remy trailed from the shadows. He followed them all the way to the police, and watched as the officers tried to make them leave.

 

Reading the body language of the cop inside the doorway, he knew what was about to happen, and broke his cover to protect the old man and teenager.

 

But he wasn’t fast enough. While he was sprinting across the street, he’d pulled a knife from his vest and threw it at the cop. It was a direct hit and the cop was down in seconds, dead on the floor.

 

But not fast enough to stop the shot that he’d fired into Father Riley’s chest, and not fast enough to stop the shot that hit Christopher in the arm. Although had it not been for the knife dropping the cop, the shot that hit Christopher would’ve likely been just as fatal as the one that hit Father Riley.

 

When he reached the doorway he glanced down at the priest, dead. Wasting no time, he had forced Christopher to his feet and dragged him two blocks over to an alley where he could check his injuries, and at the same time, turn on his comms to call for Kojo.

 

Barsad had already been on his way back to the orphanage with Kojo riding shotgun but they hadn’t had any medical supplies on hand. The decision was made to stop at the orphanage before they took Christopher to the loft for treatment. Without Father Riley, the boys might be resistant to their moving them.

 

It was fortunate that they did, because as soon as the boys saw Christopher being carried up the steps by Remy and Kojo, covered in blood, it granted the three mercenaries immediate access to the home. Where they had medical supplies. Most of the boys wanted to help in some way, so Kojo selected three of them to assist and gave tasks to as many of the others as he could.

 

Christopher, for his part, hadn’t spoken since the ride over, when he asked after Father Riley.

 

“He was dead, little man,” Remy replied in a solemn voice. “I’m sorry we had to leave him, I truly am. But I could hear the others comin’, and I had to get you out of there or we’d both be dead too.”

 

The boy had nodded, but no tears were shed. He had sat there with a blank look on his face, staring out the window. Remy had worried he was going into shock and had bundled the boy as close as he could, while being careful of his injured arm.

 

The orphanage had taken a considerable amount of the night to break down. There wasn’t much in the way of moving containers, so the trio had the boys place sheets on the ground and pile their belongings and the home’s supplies in the middle before tying them up at the corners for transport. The furniture would be left behind for now, until they had more men in the morning to assist.

 

Barsad handed out the order of movement in the children, placing them in pairs with one young and one older boy matched up wherever possible. He had taken the older boys aside to explain their responsibilities. They were big brothers, he told them, and their little brothers needed their protection now. They had to be strong, they had to be brave.

 

After seeing the three men caring for Christopher, and after Barsad told them that John had sent them to help, the boys accepted their ‘grown up’ roles with fervor.

 

By the time the sun rose, all of the children had been moved into the new apartment, nearly identical to the one above it. Each of the three back rooms had its own washroom, and Barsad had instructed them to remain locked away until he came for them. There would be a lot of men coming and going from the apartment that day, and the children were to remain unseen.

 

Some of the boys looked a little frightened, but the youngest ones acted like it was a game. After ensuring they had food and a place to sleep, Barsad left to oversee the move into the two lofts. The floors below the top two would house the rest of the army. He was less interested in where the men would sleep, just that they had a place. But he knew his presence was needed here, so he sent Remy and Kojo back to Bane to help with the final push.

 

True to his word, Barsad took John down to see the boys in the lower loft. He’d had to stop him once more when he explained what happened to Father Riley and Christopher, but John had sat patiently through the rest.

 

He recognized the look on John’s face though while he relayed the previous night’s events. It was the same blank look Christopher had when Barsad had looked in the rearview mirror. Cold, detached, and almost nearly devoid of emotion.

 

But he’d seen something else too. The same thing that Bane had noticed with one glance. This man, Robin, was a fighter. He was a protector, and would seek revenge for any injustice done against his loved ones. His experiences as a child, the abuses he suffered, would ensure that his list of loved ones remained small. But fiercely guarded.

 

As Barsad led him down to the second loft, he made a mental note to talk to Bane about starting John on training as soon as possible. This man would be a brother.


	4. Chapter 4

Although most of his attention was taken by an almost overwhelming need to see the boys, John still noticed that Remy and Kojo had rejoined Bane in the front area. The two mercenaries stood as Barsad led him towards them. Bane remained seated with Farouk, but he had stopped the conversation to observe their approach.

 

John saw a look of understanding in the three men’s eyes that told him they knew what information their brother had just shared. John had never seen Father Riley as a replacement for his own parents, but the man had definitely filled some kind of parental role for him none the less.

 

He had been the first adult that John could remember, including his own father, who looked at John and saw a kid. Just a kid, not a street rat, not a hustler, not trash. He’d been a fourteen year old kid who had seen too much, and been forced to experience too much. He’d just needed a break. The priest had remained patient throughout his outbursts, had shown that he wasn’t trying to get one over on him, and had earned the privilege of being the only adult John had sincerely trusted.

 

And now he was dead. Because he was trying to protect one of his boys. It hadn’t mattered that John was a grown man now, that he didn’t need Father Riley to look out for him. The man did it because John mattered to him. He did it because he loved him.

 

He could feel a chasm hollowing out inside of him. A dark and endless pit that had been covered over in the past but was now opening wide once again. This time, it wasn’t inside of a scared little kid, or a bitter teenager with a chip on his shoulder. This time, it was a man. And the reservoir of anger and passion was burning for a purpose.

 

Looking at Bane, he saw again that look of understanding. He watched as the man’s mouth started to curve into a small smile that seemed both accepting and approving. It was only then that he realized the mask was off again, and he realized that here, in this space they had carved out for themselves, Bane was trusting them with his biggest secret. He felt honored.

 

At the same time, the boys were downstairs and John needed to see them yesterday. God, Christopher had nearly been killed and he hadn’t been there for him. As if sensing his renewed desire, Barsad placed an arm behind his shoulders and steered him to a door beside the elevator.

 

The door opened to a concrete stairwell that had a gate locked up with heavy chains.

 

“These gates are on all of the floors,” Barsad explained as he pulled out a key to open the locks. “The gate for the floor below us is locked at the lower and upper landings.”

 

John accepted this in silence and followed Barsad down the stairs. He noticed that the man hadn’t locked the gate behind him, but didn’t comment.

 

“The elevator you came up in is the only one online for our floor” Again, they waited while he unlocked the gate for the boy’s floor. “The main one is offline for us, but it will be what the other men will use.”

 

Once the lock was open, Barsad turned back to him and continued. “Neither elevator will have access to this floor. And we have motion sensors in the stairwell. The boys are safe here.”

 

John took in the man’s serious demeanor and matter-of-fact tone. “Why are you doing this for us?” He asked. Honestly, John was thrown back to the feeling of being a fish out of water. His anger was still there, and the injustice to his family was still burning a hole in his chest, but try as he might he couldn’t figure out why this man, and the three others upstairs were willing to go to the trouble to help a bunch of throwaway kids.

 

And John was including himself in that group.

 

“Bane sees something in you,” Barsad replied. He wore a smirk that said Barsad saw something there too. “If he wants you to stay with us, you will.”

 

Out of any other mouth, John would have taken that as a threat. Hell, if this was last week John would have taken it as a threat out of Barsad too. But John had learned a long time ago that if you expected to survive in Gotham, you never listened to the words people spoke. Always, _always_ , watch their actions. And Barsad’s actions had never been threatening towards John.

 

From the moment they met, when the man had tried to help John off the floor, he had never acted deliberately unkind.

 

As Barsad reached for the door, John put his hand out to hold it closed. Inside that apartment, his boys were waiting. But they didn’t need to hear this conversation, and John was intent on having it.

 

“I’m not going to join a terrorist organization.” He whispered at Barsad as he moved in closer. The man had kept his hand on the door’s handle, but turned his head to the side to face John, his shoulder now pressed against the ex-cop’s chest.

 

Keeping his eyes on John’s, Barsad took a deep breath and let it back out. There was the same look of calculation in his stare that Bane had when John noticed him watching. It was the look of a chess player who knew exactly where all of the pieces were and was quietly running the numbers in his head while mapping out the next several moves.

 

“There are still things you don’t know about our organization,” Barsad told him, apparently having chosen his next move. “You should talk to Bane about this, not me.”

 

John was not unintelligent, but he could appreciate there were pieces of information he didn’t have here. Still, terrorists.

 

“Well I’m asking you,” He said back, deciding to forego the whispering this time. “I’m nobody. Those kids in there are nobody. We have no information to give you, nothing to help your plan. There’s no reason, I mean come on… there’s _absolutely no reason_ you guys should be helping us.”

 

Barsad had never looked away from him, and his expression remained as straight-faced as ever. “Like I said Robin, you should ask Bane.”

 

He rolled his eyes at Barsad, “What, just go up to him and say ‘hey buddy, thanks for being a cool dude about the kids and everything, but I demand some answers immediately’?”

 

“I would suggest leaving out the ‘buddy’ and ‘dude’ from that request.” The mechanical voice behind them chimed in. John’s hand immediately dropped from the door as he spun around to see Bane standing on the mid floor landing, leaning back against the wall. The mask was back in place, but John could see the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

 

Bane gestured to the upper floor and John could hear a child’s footsteps hurrying down moments before Farouk came into view. He watched as the man lifted Farouk up to carry him down to their level.

 

“Should we go inside?” Bane asked. Actually it didn’t really sound like a request.

 

Barsad, still holding the door handle moved to make it happen. The inside of the apartment did look just like the one upstairs. Different furniture, but the floorplan was the same. Bane set Farouk down once they were all inside and the group moved into the living area.

 

John almost immediately started for the side hallway that led to the three bedrooms. While Bane stayed near the couches with Farouk, Barsad came with him to gather the boys.

 

It didn’t take long for the whole apartment to be filled with the sounds of children. Seeing John again was like Christmas morning for them. The older boys had questions, mostly about Father Riley and Bane. In all the chaos of the move, they had picked up on the fact that the priest wasn’t with them.

 

The three mercenaries who had helped them move hadn’t lied to the boys about the man’s whereabouts, but they hadn’t really answered their questions either. John was both grateful for the choice to be given to him, but also dreading the somber news he would be responsible for delivering.

 

Barsad had pulled Christopher aside and directed the boy to gather his things. John caught up with them as they were headed to the loft.

 

“Hey, what’s happening here?” He asked the older man as they were starting up the staircase. Christopher, who’d stayed silent during the reunion turned to face John on the step below. It took about two seconds for the teenager to let his face to crumble and drop unto John’s shoulders in sobs.

 

“It’s my fault,” he cried. “Father Riley said we should wait for you to come back, but I was worried.” His crying was drawing the attention of the other boys in the living room. Up until now, they had been excited to meet Farouk and Bane. A little cautious of the latter, but John had explained when they first came in that Barsad and Bane were his friends.

 

He held the boy as he cried and told him repeatedly that he hadn’t done anything wrong and that he was so happy that he was okay. “Oh, Chris, no. No, hey it’s okay.” John whispered into the boy’s hair. “You survived, okay. You did everything right. They had guns and you couldn’t have stopped that. _You survived_.”

 

He knew it was what Christopher needed to hear, but he also knew that the boy would feel grief and guilt regardless. If he needed to cry his eyes out then John was going to let him.

 

Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Barsad moving down from the steps, and another presence take his place. Looking to the side, he saw Bane standing inches away.

 

“Let me take him,” he rumbled out quietly. Seeing nothing in his eyes but sincerity, John transferred the boy to Bane’s arms, soothing him the whole time with quiet assurances that it would be okay.

 

Bane lifted Christopher from the floor like it was nothing. John was impressed. Not because Chris was a large kid, but he was seventeen, and starting to fill out in the shoulders.

 

As he watched the surprisingly compassionate man carry the still crying boy up the stairs, John bent down to pick up the sheet bundle of Christopher’s things that Barsad had left by the stairs. He looked back to the other room where the aforementioned terrorist was being besieged by three young boys and laughed at by the rest before deciding that he had the children well in hand and followed after Bane.

 

Just like in the loft above, there were two large beds on either side of the living space. Bane had set Cristopher on one bed, but the boy hadn’t let go of his hold on the man’s vest. John reached the top step as Bane was lowering himself to sit next him near the headboard.

 

Figuring the plan was for the loft area to belong to Christopher, John set the bundle near the nightstand and scooted across the bed to sit on the kid’s other side.

 

Bane had been soothing the boy’s hair down with one hand, and motioned with his other for John to come closer. “I could use your assistance, little bird,” he told John as he waved him even closer towards the mask.

 

“Do you mean you want it off?” John asked. He was willing to help, but he didn’t want to mistake the meaning.

 

“If you would, please,” Bane answered.

 

John knee-walked over to the other side of the bed until he could stand and hunch over Bane’s head to get a look at the fastenings. He was once again floored by the amount of trust the man showed him as he leaned his head closer to John’s stomach so he could reach the straps. They were held together with lock-in clips that required two fingers to depress both sides at once.

 

As he moved both arms to Bane’s head to unsnap the clips he was momentarily frozen when he felt a hand come up to lightly grasp the side of his waist. It wasn’t a promise of pain, just a gentle placement. But Bane must have noticed his apprehension because after a few moments of absolute stillness from John, he felt the man’s thumb rubbing softly into his side, assuring him everything was okay.

 

Getting back to the task, John had Bane’s mask off quickly and stood back to look at his face. He was struck once more with the unassuming beauty off the other man. It might have had something to do with the expression on Bane’s face. John didn’t know if he would call it happy exactly, but it looked pleased to him, approving.

 

Before he could say anything, not that he knew what he would say anyway, there was a ping from Bane’s vest. John was surprised at himself when he realized he was immediately missing the warmth of the man’s hand on his side after Bane reached into one of the vest’s pockets to remove a cellphone.

 

He used his thumb to swipe the screen and John saw it opened immediately to a video camera positioned in the stairwell. He could just make out a figure moving on the stairs before Bane put the phone back in his pocket and began to rise from the bed, motioning for John to take his place.

 

“Stay with the boy,” Bane told him. “Don’t let the door startle you, Remy is joining us.” Bane took the mask from John’s hand and walked to the stairs. He watched him for a moment before turning his attention back to Christopher. The boy had gone quiet again, but his eyes were still open. His focus was off as he stared at the window and John knew that he wasn’t really looking at the view. Making himself comfortable, he settled in for a long rest holding the boy close.

 

Just as he was seconds from sleep, he registered that another person was reaching the top of the stairs. He gathered his attention to groggily focus on Remy coming into the room and setting a duffle down on the other bed.

 

“How’s the little man?” Remy whispered over to him. John looked down at the boy’s face and realized he’d beaten John to sleep.

 

Carefully adjusting the kid until he was laying against the pillows, John slowly rose until he was kneeling next to him. He picked up the blanket laying across the foot of the bed and dragged it over Christopher before standing to join Remy on the other side of the room. “What’s this?” he asked quietly, waving at the duffle Remy was unpacking.

 

“Oh, me an’ Kojo’ll be sharing the loft with him,” Remy replied. He was speaking quietly but friendly as he pulled out a handful of knives, thankfully still in their sheaths, and started placing them around the side of the room he had claimed as his own. “Some of the boys’ll be here with us, an’ some of them will be upstairs with you. Don’t worry ‘bout the beds, the others already started moving ’em.”

 

He didn’t feel like protesting. Somewhere in his head was a voice that kept telling him _this is crazy, these are the bad guys…_ But then there was another voice that was even louder saying _no, the bad guys shot Father Riley. The bad guys would have let children starve to death._

 

John nodded at Remy, feeling comfortable leaving him to guard over Christopher when the smell of a hot cooked meal reached his scent.

 

“Oh shit,” Remy mumbled and moved around John to head down the stairs in a rush. Intrigued, John followed him down to the kitchen area where the other man was opening pots and stirring the contents, then opening the oven to check on whatever was inside.

 

He chuckled at the domestic behavior and the near frantic pace Remy surveyed his kitchen. This was not a man John would look at and say _Terrorist!_ This was just a guy cooking a feast and trying to keep track of everything.

 

“Grab some plates, would you,” he asked John absentmindedly. “We put a few boxes worth in the cupboards over there on the left.”

 

John pulled out stacks and stacks of plates. Enough for the seventeen kids, eighteen with Farouk, as well as himself and the four mercenaries. He was going to have to come up with a new adjective for them. Yeah they actually were mercenaries, but they were something more to him now.

 

He was mature enough to admit it. For whatever reason, these four men were different. Maybe it was Bane telling him that Barsad, Kojo, and Remy could be trusted when he wouldn’t trust John and Farouk’s safety with the other men in the organization. Maybe it was because everything they’d done so far was in the best interest of John and the kids. Maybe it was because Remy had killed to protect Christopher, had tried to protect Father Riley.

 

Whatever the cause, John didn’t care. There was still the matter of the bomb. John couldn’t let that slide. There was no way he would sacrifice his boys to that fate. But something deep inside, just as strong as the pit of anger at Father Riley’s death, told him that this place with these four men and his kids was exactly where he needed to be.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner turned out to be a lively affair. Honestly, John wasn’t expecting anything different with all of the children in one place. There wasn’t really a dining room table in either of the lofts, but the kids made due with the coffee table and couches in the living room.

 

Remy had enlisted John’s help in making up each plate in an assembly line fashion, almost like he’d seen in some soup kitchens. The kids all lined up and received their plate of food before carrying it away with a word of thanks to the two men. Bane and Kojo had gathered the oldest boys to help carry plates for the younger ones who would have more likely dropped them on the floor than make it all the way to the coffee table.

 

Barsad was missing though, and it wasn’t until he joined them in the kitchen with Christopher near the end of the plating that John realized he’d gone to collect the boy. He was going to need to talk to the man soon about the interest he and Remy seemed to be showing in the teenager.

 

He knew that his own experiences might be sparking his protective instincts, and he didn’t really think the men meant the kid any harm of any fashion. But this was becoming a pattern where they singled Christopher out for attention and John didn’t know what that meant.

 

Still, the rest of the boys enjoyed their meal together while the adults updated them on the new sleeping arrangements. They accepted that they would be staying in the apartments full-time rather than venturing out into the city with little fanfare. They had long gotten used to staying inside after the city went on lock down so it wasn’t a drastic change to their normal day-to-day.

 

One thing that would be changing though was that the kids were all going to be learning some new activities. Bane had spoken to John about his plans to keep the children engaged in learning a ‘job’ while he was fixing his own plate of food. John and Remy had been the only ones left in the kitchen when Bane had arrived.

 

“Our presence is not needed as much as it was before,” he began his explanation. “We will still need to be around the men from time to time, but there is nothing to keep us away for long periods.”

 

John nodded his understanding, not really sure where the man was taking this, but also not wanting to interrupt.

 

“I would like it if the children were taught some fashion of survival skills, Robin,” he continued. “That is with your permission of course. They might be settled if their minds are kept occupied. The younger ones will learn culinary and cleaning skills, but the older ones should have defense lessons.”

 

After what happened with Chris, and the reality of the city under mob rule, John really didn’t have a logical reason to keep the boys from learning self-defense. “Is this why you’re focusing on Christopher?” He asked the other man, feeling some of the pieces starting to fall into place. “Are you planning on training him?”

 

To his credit, Bane didn’t refute the claim. “Yes,” he stated matter-of-fact. “Barsad and Remy were impressed with his handling of himself. He is young but with training he will grow into a strong man.”

 

Bane had finished plating his own food, and surprised John by plating up another dish and handing it to him for himself. Then he dropped another surprise. “You will begin training as well.”

 

John knew that Bane had overheard him and Barsad in the stairwell earlier. How much of the conversation the man had been present for he didn’t know. But John wondered if he’d heard him say that he wouldn’t be joining a terrorist organization. He hadn’t been lying.

 

Sure, the kids could benefit from some defense lessons, and John had received some of his own in the academy. But he knew his skill level was nowhere near what these four men had. He wouldn’t turn down expanding his abilities. Still, “I’d like to talk about that after dinner. Yes to the kids, and yes to the training. But there’s parts of this I think need some explaining.”

 

Bane’s face turned to amusement as he watched John puff up his chest in effort to appear brave and determined. “I suppose we should all be satisfied you decided against calling me ‘buddy’,” he told him around a smile. “I don’t believe it would have had the same outcome.” He nodded and motioned for John to follow him from the room with their food. “Very well. We will have our meal with the children, but you and I will talk more afterwards.”

 

And talk they did, though it wasn’t until much later. Remy had selected a group of boys to be on clean up duty. These were the younger children. The division that had been decided on was for the younger ones to stay in the lower apartment, where they would learn from Remy and Kojo about their new tasks. With the exception of Christopher. He would be learning directly from the two men as well, but he would be training instead of doing chores. The rest of the older boys were going to be upstairs where they would be primarily learning to become little soldiers.

 

John was very quick to address his concerns about that. “Look, I really appreciate that you and the others have been so good about this,” he told Bane and Barsad when they were back in their loft for the night. John had learned that one of the beds in the upstairs loft was indeed for him, while the other bed was going to be shared by Bane and Barsad. He paused for a moment when he realized the two men were sharing not only his space, but also their own bed, but quickly set it aside. He’d seen the closeness Bane had with the other man, if sharing a bed was the norm for them, he honestly couldn’t care less.

 

Barsad was lounging on the bed, already changed into more relaxing apparel, while John noted that Bane was making no moves to change his own clothes. Instead, Bane presented John with a duffle full of clothing in John’s own size. There were linen pants and tank tops, as well as some warmer clothing. He selected some items to sleep in and proceeded to change out of the clothes he’d been wearing for a few days now.

 

“Perhaps a shower first?” Barsad asked from his seat despite not having looked away from the book he was reading.

 

A shower sounded great right about then, and John made a mental note that the kids would likely need to see about their own showers in the morning. That being said, they still needed to have their talk.

 

“So this whole training thing,” he started. “I need to know what you’re expecting here.” He was feeling a bit more comfortable about addressing Bane informally after the last two days, but in the back of his mind he was also waiting to see just how far he could take it before the mercenary decided he’d crossed a line.

 

“I told Barsad earlier that I’m not cut out for life as a terrorist. That’s still true.” He figured in for a penny, in for a pound. “And the bomb situation. Look, I’m never going to be okay with the bomb. Alright? It’s not okay. I mean, yeah. There’s some pretty ugly parts of this city. Not gonna lie about that. But you’ve been planning to blow us all up at the drop of a hat since you got here. That’s _not okay.”_

Barsad had looked up during his speech, if that’s what it was. He looked over at Bane, who was watching John with another one of those indulgent gazes again. He kept looking at him while he addressed his lieutenant, “Barsad, please educate the little bird while I’m gone.”

 

And that was it. Without another word, Bane grabbed his own duffel and made his way back down the stairs. John listened for some sense of what direction the man would head off in, and was rewarded when he heard the sound of the bathroom door directly below their loft open and close.

 

“Come sit by me Robin,” Barsad called softly across the room. When John had crossed and situated himself near the headrest beside the other man, he was handed a book. He recognized the title _The Little Prince_ but had never read it himself. The book itself was a hardback, but the older cloth kind, and it had obviously seen better days with the wear and tear of it.

 

“Bane brought this book with him from the pit,” Barsad told him. He wasn’t whispering, but the words were just above a murmur. “When we found him, he was more delirious than not. But Kojo had been reading it to him to distract his mind from the pain.”

 

This information was somewhat new to John and he immediately had questions. Gordon had a file on Bane that he gotten from who John had assumed to be Batman. There was no way the GPD had amassed even the little information it had contained. He knew Bane had grown up in a prison underground, and that he had escaped at some point. But he hadn’t known that Kojo had been with him. He decided to keep his questions for later, which was a good idea since Barsad continued before he had the chance to ask.

 

“Kojo made sure to bring it with him,” the other man continued. “They took nothing else from that place except themselves, and this book. Bane had been severely injured some time before, and had it not been for Kojo’s attention, he would have died many times over. Either from sickness, or the other men. Remy was fairly new to the League at the time, as was I.”

 

He looked toward the darkened window for a moment of pause. John couldn’t see his expression, but the man had kept his tone emotionless, and continued in the same manner after that moment was up. “When we descended with Ras Al Ghul, it was with the intention of slaughtering every last man we found. But Talia…” He paused for a few more seconds, though this time he looked down at his lap. “Talia was the daughter of Ras Al Ghul and a woman who had been abandoned to that place many years before. He never knew of her fate or that Talia existed at all. It was Bane who saw to her escape. He was her protector while she lived there. But after the men killed her mother, Bane knew it would only be a matter of time until Talia would follow. He saved her. And for that, the men punished him.”

 

John could guess exactly what kind of punishment had been doled out. Bane wore the scars to show for it.

 

“Kojo fought through the hoard and brought Bane to a safe place. But there was no real medical care in that place. He was forced to spend years in pain. When we entered the pit Kojo was protecting him, but Talia had followed us down despite her father ordering her to remain above. She found Bane and refused to allow her father’s men, us, to kill him.” Barsad looked up and shot John a quick half-smile.

 

“It was Remy who saved Kojo,” he said around the smile. “He saw that the man was caring for Bane and insisted he be brought above as well. I was never sure if the men were obeying Remy, or Talia.”

 

Barsad continued to detail the reception of Bane and Kojo into the League. While Bane recovered, Barsad was given the task of overseeing his health and wellbeing. Remy had likewise attached himself to Kojo immediately. It was those early relationships that had formed a small brotherhood of their own between the four men inside of the organization.

 

He told John of the mask, and how it had been devised by Ras Al Ghul to both mitigate the pain, but also keep Bane dependent on the League to function. They all quietly recognized it for what it was, but there was no opportunity to petition for a different situation at the time. Still, it was the creation of the mask rather than corrective surgery that cemented the first real fissure between the four men and the League.

 

The healing of his back didn’t come until much later, after they had left. Bane’s excommunication had been a step too far for Barsad and the other two. They left with him and traveled to Africa.

 

Chemicals for the mask were easy enough to find, and Bane made a name for himself while wearing it. In secret though, Bane spent almost a year undergoing several surgeries and recovery periods.

 

Talia had left her father as well, but not with them. She’d still been a child when they were cast out, and had remained with her father for several more years. When she did find them, it was after Bane’s recovery.

 

“I can’t tell you why we chose not to let Talia know that Bane no longer required the mask to function,” Barsad said with a look of pondering. “But we did. Bane accepted her into our group in all other ways. As I told you before, he has always had a soft spot for children. Talia was still that child he had protected in the pit. No matter how far we’ve traveled since, that place will forever be in his thoughts.”

 

Barsad looked toward the stairs, stopping his story to listen for a moment. John did too. They could hear the muffled sound of the shower beneath them, and Barsad spared another glance at John before he continued.

 

“But the Talia who joined us in Africa was not the same girl Bane had delivered from the pit. Or perhaps she was, I never saw her grow up. She was colder than I remembered though. She had grown hard under her father’s direction.”

 

Barsad turned to face John fully then, his tone quieter, but with emotion for the first time since he began his tale. “I do not believe Talia left her father because of Bane. In the name of doing good on a global scale, the League is responsible for countless acts of death and destruction. All of us, including the four of us here with you, _believed_ in that cause. But Talia…”

 

Shaking his head, Barsad let out a heavy sigh. “Right before she came to Gotham to begin her cover, there was an accident.”

 

Hello, John thought. Talia was here in Gotham? For how long? Again, he chose to keep his questions to himself for now, and again Barsad answered them regardless.

 

“It was several years ago. We had been planning the destruction of this city as soon as the Batman killed Ras Al Ghul. Though Talia claimed no love for her father, she still demanded vengeance for his death. Many of the League died in Gotham with their leader, but Talia traveled back to the mountains to build the brotherhood back up to its former glory.”

 

Bane had been part of the ‘reconstruction’ although he chose to remain with his group in Africa. For the next few years, the four men would travel between their base of operations and the mountain home of the League making plans for Gotham.

 

Right before Talia was to insert herself as a citizen of Gotham, she had returned to Africa to spend a few months in their company.

 

Which was when she discovered Amara. The small girl was only eight at the time. She had been taken by a group of rebels and nearly forced into life as a child soldier. The abuses she had suffered as a captive were unspeakable. The four of them had slaughtered the group that had her.

 

Barsad didn’t use many words to describe that event, but it was enough for John to realize that they considered the abuse of children to be one of the lowest depths of evil a person could sink to. He also realized that when Barsad said they had slaughtered the rebel group, he probably wouldn’t be too far off to imagine a campground covered in blood.

 

“We all had a liking for Amara. But Bane adored the child.” He caught another smile on Barsad’s face. “She had been with us for almost ten months, and she loved us easily despite what she had been through.”

 

The story stopped there, and John waited for a few long minutes for the other man to continue. But no sound came. He knew from Barsad’s earlier statement that there had been an accident. And if the girl wasn’t here with them, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was probably dead.

 

He sent a hushed “Barsad?” over to him and received a nod in return.

 

“Less than two days before Talia left for Gotham, Amara fell from the roof of the compound,” He told John. He had gone back to the tone of a detached observer, and John recognized the level of compartmentalizing it took to lose a loved one, especially a child, and tell another person about it with a straight face.

 

“She hated heights. There was no reason for her to be on that roof, it was not her normal behavior.” Barsad looked angry just thinking about it.

 

“She didn’t fall Brother, she was thrown.” John whipped his head around to look at Bane. The man had some serious ninja ability to sneak up on them without him noticing. Barsad though, didn’t look surprised.

 

Bane crossed around the bed and placed his hand on Barsad’s head, smoothing the hair to the side once before setting his duffle on the ground. “It was the only time in our knowing each other that I have disagreed with Barsad,” He told John. “The only time we have quarreled.”

 

Rather than joining them on the bed, Bane took the armchair in the center of the room near the bookshelves. “He told me it was Talia. That he had seen her hatred for Amara, her jealousy of the attention we showed the girl. I became very angry with him.”

 

Bane sent a look of remorse over to his brother. It was the first time John had seen that particular look on the other man. He’d seen the trust and devotion of the two men to each other, so he figured this was all water under the bridge, but he still wanted to hear it.

 

“Understand Robin, I raised Talia from the time she was an infant. Her mother trusted me with her care and she became in many ways my own child.” Bane was at ease in the chair, but his face remained serious if a bit imploring. “It was not an easy thing to learn that the young girl I loved as my own would be capable of such a hateful thing.”

 

Barsad had yet to add anything more to the conversation, so he figured Bane was taking over from here. He felt compassion in him for what the man beside him was remembering and found himself scooting a little closer to him. Barsad let him. And a look up at Bane shown his approval of the action as well.

 

“The next day, Talia told me that it was for the best,” Bane added. “That she needed my attention to be focused on ensuring her father’s plan for Gotham was seen through. That was when I realized that Barsad had spoken the truth. And that was the moment I knew that the four of us had no place in this new League.”

 

John was floored. Everything he was learning went directly against everything that had happened up to that point. Bane was the face of Gotham’s reckoning. He had killed people to bring the city to its knees. How was he sitting here saying he wasn’t part of it now?

 

“If you left the League, then why…?” He asked Bane. “Why are you doing this?”

 

Bane gave him a tired smile. “Talia is here,” he said. “She was always going to come here for this. The League may be corrupt, but it is more powerful today than it was even under her father’s rule. If you intend to cut the head off of a snake, you must be close enough to touch it. But that presents another problem: Eliminating Talia will not stop the League. It will not save your city.”

 

“Are you trying to tell me that you took over this city to save us?” John wanted to believe him. He really did. But it was asking a lot. Bane had _killed people_. On camera no less. Hell, he’d bombed a stadium.

 

“We have no love for your city, Robin. And it remains a cesspool of humanity’s worst in need of cleansing.” Bane replied. He didn’t sound angry as much as John though he was just disgusted by the topic. “But we will not be the ones to cleanse it.”

 

Bane rose from the chair and looked at the two of them with a soft gaze, but also with a stance that said the conversation was over for the night. “Stay with Barsad, Robin. He will be comforted by your closeness while he rests.”

 

John looked over to Barsad, who still hadn’t spoken, then turned a questioning look to Bane, “Are you not sleeping?”

 

“I will be watching over us for a little while. Kojo will relieve me later.” With that, Bane took his leave of the loft.

 

John actually felt comforted knowing that the man had the safety of their group at the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to get complacent, but it was hard not to be a little relaxed knowing someone else was on guard.

 

He let Barsad know that he was going to grab a quick shower but he’d be back as quick as he could.

 

“I am not one of your children, Robin,” the man muttered back. “You do not need to fret over my comfort.” But John could see the faint beginnings of a smile, so he figured the man was closer to amused than annoyed.

His shower was indeed quick and he was grateful that he had new, _clean_ clothes to redress in. Keeping his promise, John turned out the lights in the loft about ten minutes later and slid into the bed beside Barsad.

 

The man was facing his own end of the bed, but he could see the easy rise and fall of his chest that told John he wasn’t upset with his close proximity. Taking a chance, and knowing that the man might reject him, John carefully placed one arm over Barsad’s side.

 

He didn’t even stop breathing, just let out a quiet chuckle at John’s hesitance, then gently pulled the arm fully across his torso and let out a deep sigh of relaxation.

 

It didn’t take long for the day’s activities to catch up to him and John only noticed that he’d passed out almost as soon as he had settled down when he was woken up to the feeling of another body sliding into the bed behind him.

 

Bane’s watch must be over, John thought, awake enough to recognize the other man. He spent a moment thankful that the beds in the loft were definitely king size before slipping right back into one of the most relaxing sleeps he’d had in a while.


	6. Chapter 6

After a week of sharing a bed, and no mention of it from Bane or Barsad, John assumed there were no issues with it. He wasn’t ashamed of feeling comfortable bracketed in by the two dangerous men, and they were definitely dangerous. Barsad was overseeing John’s training as they were basically matched in size, but Bane stepped in whenever he seemed to feel like it.

 

John was convinced by the second day of training that Bane liked to hover over John’s progress, even from the other side of the apartment. Even when he was actively engaged with the kids. Even when John though he wasn’t in the building. Then, when he gained the tiniest bit of confidence in what Barsad was teaching him, Bane would appear, demand John show him, and summarily wipe the floor with him.

 

By the end of that first week, he couldn’t differentiate between bruises from Barsad, and the ones from Bane. On the sixth day, Kojo brought Christopher up during a session and used John to show him how a particular move was supposed to work. He used John as an opponent first, and John could honestly admit that the man was every bit as formidable as Bane. He wasn’t being mean about it, but when he put John on the mat for the third time, John was starting to miss Bane’s approach of silent amusement in the ex-cop’s stumbling.

 

Kojo was another animal entirely. He didn’t have any amusement on his face, just pure focus. Hell, even Barsad who was the most straight faced teacher John had ever had, still occasionally had a moment of softness around his eyes now and then.

 

Kojo on the other hand was like one of those K-9 dogs who was clearly wearing a ‘working’ vest and wasn’t going to hesitate in his ability to deliver punishment. Then John remembered where this man had been. He was a product of the pit, every bit as much as Bane. And John remembered Barsad saying that he’d fought through a hoard of men to get to his friend.

 

He spared a moment to consider what that must have been like. How many men did it take to count as a hoard? Would Kojo have disabled or killed to stop them? Disabled would have probably been the faster approach, but killing would have ensured a clear path out of that mess.

 

Unfortunately for John, the moment he spent considering was a moment too long. Kojo put him down for a fourth time. Which was when he heard the laughter off to the side. Remy came forward and helped him up from the mat, but instead of stopping there, the man started to lead him toward the loft stairs.

 

He glanced back to see Barsad leave Christopher’s side to step on the mat and face Kojo. Apparently he was taking over the exhibition.

 

His legs were straining a bit from the work out, and the floor show, so getting up the stairs was not a quick endeavor, but Remy helped him with each step. “It’ll get better once your body adjusts,” he told John. “You’re only feelin’ pain cause it’s new.”

 

When they reached the top, Remy took one look at the room and led him over to Bane and Barsad’s bed. John figured the other bed, his bed, probably didn’t look slept in. Because it hadn’t been.

 

He tried to find some sense of shame, but none came, and Remy said nothing that would have sparked any. Not even a mocking lifting of his eye brows. John slept with Bane and Barsad. It was a fact as simple as any other in their little world.

 

Remy cooked dinner, Barsad trained him every day, Bane was a ninja, Kojo was kind but scary, and John slept with Bane and Barsad.

 

Which was why it didn’t surprise him the next day when he looked up from training with Barsad to see Remy and Kojo helping Bane bring the bed downstairs. The kids all had their bunkbeds so he wasn’t sure what they were doing with it, but they carried it over to the service elevator and it was gone.

 

Yet again he tried to find some piece of him that cared, but it never came.

 

“Robin,” Bane called for him as he came out of the elevator half an hour later, this time sans Remy and Kojo. “We have things to discuss.”

 

Bane didn’t wait for him to leave the mat, just made his way to the loft confident that John would follow. Barsad stayed downstairs and drifted over to the children to observe their activities. Cleaning guns. John hadn’t felt wonderful about that at first, but Barsad had said it was important they learn the parts and how to assemble or disassemble them.

 

He found Bane moving the sitting area in the loft a little further away from their bed since there was now a fair bit of open space. Just like he had a week ago, Bane dropped into an armchair once he’d set it in its new place. He’d put the mask back on before he’d left the loft with the mattress, and John waited until he had it unsnapped and sitting beside him.

 

He watched Bane rub his jaw a little and remembered that the man had to shave twice a day to remain unbothered if he was going to be wearing the mask.

 

Deciding that the bed was a designated place of rest, John took a seat in the other armchair and waited for Bane to start whatever conversation they were going to have.

 

It took about three minutes. Three minutes of Bane just looking at him, studying his face, but giving nothing away. “You’re doing well with Barsad,” he offered.

 

John scoffed at that. “I don’t know how you can tell,” he replied, sarcasm on full display. “Every time you’ve stepped in, it ends the same way.”

 

Bane’s eyes crinkled around a smile, “You were never going to defeat me after one week, Robin. Nor will you be capable of besting Barsad. You are learning.” Bane looked back over to the edge of the loft where the sounds of the children’s voices were raising in volume. Barsad must be holding a timed competition again. They particularly liked that game as the winner was given some form of relief in duties or chores.

 

“You will be leaving here in two weeks,” Bane continued. He was still facing the open space, but John could hear him just fine.

 

All of that spark feeling he’d been searching for before was now flooding the pit of his stomach.

 

“You will take the children and travel to Africa,” Bane continued after he turned back to face him. “Remy will accompany you, but Barsad, Kojo, and I will remain here.”

 

John tilted his face up and took a deep breath to say…. What? What could he say to that? Bane continued regardless.

 

“Robin, the bomb is designed to go off at a set date. Whether someone holds the trigger is not a factor in its detonation, Barsad has ensured that. But there is not much time left. The Batman has escaped from his prison and will be making his way here, I am sure of it.”

 

John knew the disappearance of Batman was on Bane’s head. While he was happy to learn that he hadn’t been killed, he felt a little bad that it hadn’t been a concern of his at all in the last week. Bane had turned towards him fully then, and John was struck by just how tired he suddenly appeared.

 

“With the time drawing closer, we cannot delay much longer. Twice now I have dissuaded Talia from visiting us here,” Bane told him. And that was more troubling to John than anything he’d heard prior.

 

Talia, from what John had learned, was straight up evil. No need to be fancy about it, she was evil. And based on Barsad’s tale, she was deeply possessive of Bane. There was no doubt in his mind that if she knew of their existence here, all of them would be in danger.

 

John was more than a ‘big brother’ to the boys under this roof. He wouldn’t go as far as calling him their father out loud and he had never had a kid of his own, but in his heart, they were his. And there was no amount of being too cautious about their safety that he would consider it overkill. Especially now.

 

He looked back at Bane and suddenly felt as tired as the other man looked. He realized something that Bane had already figured out: Staying here in this city was no longer an option for his boys.

 

He could appreciate that Bane and the other men had a debt to repay for Amara. Her death had affected each of them, and he wasn’t going to stand in the way of that justice. But it meant that Bane and Barsad would be staying behind. With Talia. With the bomb.

 

Kojo would be by their side, and John certainly wasn’t looking to take his place. But just as much as he understood the reasons why, he also felt a mild panic that they wouldn’t be leaving together.

 

But how do you put words to something like that in the face of all the facts. He gave a small snort at the memory of thinking Bane and Barsad were chess players. They absolutely were, and he knew that he was so ill-equipped to play this particular game.

 

“There will be a truck in two weeks’ time to take you and the boys to the docks,” Bane told him. “Remy has the skill to navigate a submersible vessel out of the city. From there you will meet a cargo plane that will take you the rest of the way to safety.”

 

Bane leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. The children were still cheering and shouting down on the main level, but he didn’t raise his voice. “Barsad, Kojo, and I will see the plans through before joining you. But you cannot be here when that happens.”

 

“What about the bomb?” He asked. “If you’re in the city when it goes off, there’s no way you’re making it out.”

 

“Barsad knows how it was removed from the reactor, he can recreate the connection.” Bane explained in quiet but self-assured tones. “We will join you in Africa as soon as the threat has passed. Robin,” he called until John looked up at him. “We will join you when it’s finished.”

 

John sat in quiet for a few moments. This was too big. It was a huge change. It would be good to get the kids free of Gotham, but did they really need to go all the way to another continent? Alone in Africa with eighteen kids. Well, he supposed Remy would be with them, but still… Africa… eighteen children dependent on them and them alone.

 

“You know,” he addressed the other man, deciding to change thought tracks before he went nuts. “You’ve never called me John. I was going to say something about it the other day with Barsad. But neither of you have ever called me by my name.”

 

If Bane was shocked with his choice of topic, it was covered by his smile. “Because that is not your name.” He answered. “The name John was a mask you gave to yourself just as much as my own was given to me. You are Robin. A small creature in a vast world, to be sure. But capable of withstanding the long, hard winters and soaring above the rubbish.”

 

He’d never been one to accept compliments easily, and although Bane was speaking in metaphors, it was a little too close to praise for John to be entirely comfortable keeping eye contact.

 

“We needed only to help you find your wings, little bird.” Bane rumbled proudly as he stood to come closer to John’s chair. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently until he met the man’s gaze once again. “You are more than capable of taking flight.”

 

With another squeeze, Bane turned and left John alone in the loft with his thoughts. He wanted to stay isolated for longer than he actually did. But how much time did he really want to spend going over and over the same information? The plans were solidly in place. And honestly, they were the best of all possible options.

 

He rejoined the group downstairs after Barsad’s competition had ended, and although it was still early, he didn’t resume training. Instead he excused himself down to the lower apartment to assist Remy in the preparations for dinner and again, quietly excused himself early in the evening for bed.

 

Even after a long shower, and putting on soft clothes, then relaxing among the pillows and blankets, he was as wide awake as ever. Bane joined him in the loft early, and he watched silently as the other man changed his apparel out for softer clothing before sliding in the bed next to him.

 

It wasn’t uncommon for John to awake in the morning pressed up against one or both men, but Bane didn’t wait for sleep this time. Without a word he gathered John close until his head was nestled in between the man’s shoulder and neck. John could feel his eyes closing as Bane used one hand to gently massage his scalp while he let out soft puffs of air into his hair.

 

He knew he didn’t need to try and come up with something to say. He didn’t think he’d be successful if he tried anyway. But it didn’t matter. Once again, just like every night for the last week, John slipped into sleep with the warmth of safety taking over his mind.


End file.
